Bad Faith A Story of Maligned Honor
by NayNymic
Summary: An ancient spell is placed on Draco, and only Harry can save him. But will it be with hate, or with love?
1. Running

Title: Bad Faith, A Tale of Maligned Dignity

Rating: R

Pairings: D/H, Ron/?, Hermione/? SS/?

Spoilers: All books

Disclaimer: I don't own this, although I wish that I did, and IF I did, do you REALLY think that I'd be writing for you people? I thought not. I make no money off of this, so don't even bother suing. =)

Summary: …..

Chapter One: Running

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Running, Running, always running. It had long now been night-how long, he did not know, but the moon was high in the night sky. His breath came raggedly, scraping his throat raw with each expansion of burning lungs.

Blood, there'd been so much blood. Really, his tired brain processed almost idly, can a body survive after having lost so much of the precious fluid? Footsteps, hasty, and fumbled. How much longer could he run-'til it was finally over? 'Til his heart ceased beating.

He could hear them coming; hear them tearing into the land behind him, almost, he imagined, ripping it apart in their need for a speedy recovery of what they saw as theirs. What was rapidly slipping away with them. Or maybe, he thought, as yet another muscle in his leg cramped, not so rapidly. He bit back a scream. It wouldn't be long now. . . 

**__**

No! he thought firmly, willing his cramped and aching body to move as he re-adjusted the burden in his arms. **_I must make it beyond the wards. . . portkey, must. . . can't. . . let him die. . . must get him to the old. . . man. . . _**

The mans' body in his arms was hardly recognizable as being human, never mind that it was the correct weight of one. Blood coated the arms, torso, and legs; bruises covered the abused back, and the face. . .well, the face. . .

He heard howls behind him, causing his blood to run cold. Sweet God, if they caught him now. . . **_Hell Hounds,_** he cursed silently, his bleeding, aching legs almost giving out. **_They send me Hounds to make me crawl. . ._**

And crawl he did, willing his body to carry him just beyond the wall. If he could just get beyond it, he could grab the portkey, and he's be safe. . . for the nonce. Until the Dark Lord discovered his fun had been sabotaged. He only hoped they had not seen his face-his position as a spy would then be compromised.

He shuddered. The Lord did not take well to betrayal. The man in his arms moaned lightly, not conscious, but unable to fight the charm prohibiting his becoming the opposite. Cursing under his breath, he hoisted the moaning man in his arms once again, trying desperately to keep his legs from buckling. 

**__**

Just a few more meters, he eyed the wall before him, almost desperately. He could see the trees beyond it, could almost taste the forest air against his skin. . . 

The hounds were approaching rapidly, now. Any moment, and they would be upon him. And all that he fought for this night would be for naught. But at least HE would be safe. And the Order would continue. The Dark Lord would not triumph. . . even if he himself did not see morning.

He could see it now, the bright red crayon just to the left of the giant stone gargoyle that would take them home. They'd be safe. . . maybe. **_This time._**

Gasping from the effort of having run for so long with his burden, he grabbed the small waxen object tightly, making sure one of his charges mangled fingers made contact with its smooth surface.

A minute left. . . thirty seconds. . . 

A single Hell Hound leapt towards them no more than thirteen yards away. . . seven seconds. . . three yards. . . one second. . . he came upon them, eyes flashing-teeth and vicious claws barred. . .

Zero.

There was a tug, a pull, and they collapsed into the dark red carpet of the Old Mans office.

"Sweet Merlin!" Dumbledore cursed, leaning over the torn body in the runners arms. "How did-?"

"Hospital wing!" the bearer of the red crayon gasped, head reeling in pain. "Message for, Potter," he ground out as someone, he didn't know, nor particularly care who, caught him. "Must get the ring-"

The colors swirled around him and he was vaguely aware of Dumbledore calling for them to go to the Hospital Wing.

Draco Malfoy's world went black.

So, what'd you guys think? Good? Bad?

There will be Harry-ness in the next chapter, but I need to know what you guys want next.

The mystery man (you'll see =) ) dies. Draco almost dies The Trio comes to visit him in the hospital 


	2. Carpe Enspiritus

****

I must admit, I was thrilled to get the few reviews that I got. . . I suppose that I didn't get as many on this one because it's Drama, and not Comedy, unlike my other story. Ah, well, whatever the reason, I was still happy to get them. Okay, so here we go!

Chapter Two: Carpe Enspiritus

"How is the Professor, Poppy?"

It was well past midnight, and Dumbledore stood with Madame Pomfrey, watching the two prone figures on the beds before them anxiously.

"Remus is. . . better than I had expected him to be, Albus." She indicated the figure in the left bed. "We are fortunate to have gotten him so quickly. . . had his bones not had time to heal before the moon. . ." she trailed off, knowing that he would understand what it was that she meant, even if she could not bring herself to say the words.

There was a sudden silence, empty, yet full. Remus had also, Dumbledore was well aware, suffered some internal damage, bleeding, mostly. A surprisingly little amount of it, really, given the condition that he been delivered in, and the torture from which he been taken, but still, it was enough. Beyond that, it had been the cuts that had pained Dumbledore the most. They crisscrossed his entire body, some jagged and deep, others just barely nicking the surface. But all sprung from hate, and that, the Headmaster knew, could scar a man deeper than mere wounds. 

Dumbledore looked again at his Dark Arts Professor. At his friend. Remus would live; for now, that had to be enough. The rest would be dealt with later-if, that was, it could ever truly be dealt with.

"And Mr. Malfoy?" Dumbledore asked suddenly, turning to the second figure laying quietly on the right-hand bed.

Pomfrey hesitated, and Dumbledore tensed, almost unconsciously. This, he surmised from her apparent reluctance, would not be good news.

"H-he's. . . dying, Albus," she said it quietly, her words echoing in the all but empty infirmary.

"How?" the old man asked, unsure, suddenly, of his own voice.

"Voldemort," she said shortly, her voice still quiet as the grave. "He placed _Carpe Enspiritus_ on him, and-" Dumbledore closed his eyes in silent pain, unable to stop the gesture. "But it is in such a form as I have never heard of it being. Only one of Voldemort's blood can lift it from him."

"How would such a thing be managed?"

Pomfrey frowned. The art of the Applied Possibilities of Magic had never really been her forte, especially not when it concerned magic as archaic as this. _Carpe Enspiritus_ was a very old spell; she herself had studied it as a girl in school, and she personally believed that it had its origins in Elvin culture. As far as she knew, not a single case of it had ever been cured. Though, throughout the majority of the time it was used, it was rarely recognized, until it was too late, so. . . 

"One of the casters blood would have to initiate a bond with the victim, within a time period of no more than two days. However, this would only be a temporary reprieve from the spell. In order to make the recovery permanent, the one bound would have to be bound completely; mind, heart, body, soul. . ."

"They would have to fall in love?" Dumbledore's eyes had opened again, but they had lost their inner twinkle. Such a task might prove impossible.

"Or in hate," Pomfrey nodded, checking the boys' pulse. "And the emotion must be so strong as to override all others. If it is not. . . well, I would hate to think. . ." she didn't finish. She didn't have to.

"They must be of the Dark Lord's line?"

"Of his blood, yes," Pomfrey frowned again. "But Albus, I am worried. What if we can't find anyone? We have but two days, and Voldemort has no children-"

"None living." Dumbledore agreed darkly, scowling softly. Pomfrey looked shocked.

"You mean, he once had one?"

The Headmaster did not respond. Pomfrey continued, "But then there truly is no hope! Draco Malfoy is the Dragon of Merlin's' prophesy! He and the Gryphon are the keys! If he does not live-"

"He will live." Dumbledore interrupted smoothly, quietly. "And the prophecy will be fulfilled. The Gryphon will come. He will."

There was a moment of silence, and then: "But, Albus, the bond must be completed mind, soul _body_-"

"Bring young Lion to me."

Pomfrey said nothing. Nor did she move. "The Lion and the Snake, he ordered again. Still she did nothing.**_ "Now!"_** he bellowed, the walls all but shaking from the force of his rare, and powerful, outburst. At last, drawn and pale, she went to do his bidding.

He looked down at Draco Malfoy, watching the pale young man as he slept_. //Innocent, he appears in sleep,//_ he thought. He must live, he must. _//The prophecy _must_ be fulfilled. . . //_

. . . TBC. . . 

Okay, so there it was! Um, yes, so what'd you think? Awful? Good? Please, PLEASE, R&R!!!!! I need the feedback! It's rather sad, actually, how my pitiful life seems to revolve around reviews! =) Okay, so what do you want to have happen next?

The Lion is told

The Trio wonders about Malfoy/they come to visit

Voldemort rages at Lucius and the Death Eaters for loosing Lupin

We find out what Snape has to do with all of this

Okay, those are your options! Review!!!!!!! 


	3. A Meeting Among Friends

Chapter Three: A Meeting Among Friends

"'Mione,"

Huddled over an overly thick volume of "Dark Artifacts and Their Historical Roles," was seventeen year old Hermione Granger. She was an astoundingly smart girl, her chocolate eyes more suited for the dim confines of a library than the cheery, bright light of the outdoors. Her slightly bushy brown hair was tied back with a practical black band, leaving her serious, almost-plain features exposed.

"Harry," she acknowledged with a nod of her head. "I thought you had Quidditch today,"

Harry Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World, sat across from his friend, dragging a callused hand through his raven locks. They were of an age, he and Hermione, and though their thoughts were often different, he found that he could always come to her with his problems, as she knew she could come to him. They were close, and he relished that closeness. It was a friendship he found was necessary in his life, and he had a feeling he might need that security now.

"Everyone was tired," he explained, leaning forward to rest his chin on the pillow of his folded hands on the tabletop. "I let them out early,"

Hermione nodded understandingly as Harry closed his eyes tiredly. He didn't say it, but she knew that he was talking about himself, and not the other players, when he said it. Voldemort had become quite active in the past two years, and the Order of the Phoenix had found it had more on its plate than it had anticipated. There was always, it seemed, another battle to fight, another murder to prevent, and for the Order members, especially the students such as Harry and herself, it seemed there was never enough time. Not even to sleep.

Harrys' eyes were closed, but Hermione, even without being able to see into the emerald depths, knew that something was bothering her friend. Not that that was at all extraordinary, rather the contrary. With Voldemort back, there was always something to worry about.

"Where's Ron?" she asked, breaking the silence that had settled about them like smoke, though she thought she could guess the answer.

"Chess," Harry replied, unmoving. "With Seamus; I told him that I needed to be alone for a bit."

Once again, Hermione thought. A common uncommon occurrence. It used to be that Ron and Harry were inseparable, now they were rarely together.

"'Mione," Harry began, emerald eyes snapping open suddenly to focus on her face. He adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses nervously; a habit that he'd developed over the years. One of the few, Hermione thought almost sadly, indicators of discomfort that he still displayed. "Lupin didn't come back yesterday."

Hermione, who had been grinning at how innocent Harry appeared whilst fixing his glasses, immediately snapped back to reality. "Are you certain, Harry?"

"Well. . ." He frowned, biting the inside of his chapped lips. "I had a meeting with him last night, but he never showed up. And when I went to check on him this morning and Sev said he never came home- I'm worried about him, Herm," he broke off, massaging the bridge of his nose with his right hand. "He was there, at Riddle House, yesterday, to get information. That's why I was going to meet him, but. . . what if he was caught?"

Hermione frowned, barely suppressing a wince. She had a fair idea of what would have happened if he had been. It wasn't pretty.

"He wasn't." she assured Harry briskly, pleased when her voice showed no signs of her own anxiety. In truth, she was half convinced that he had been, especially considering what Harry had said about the Professor not having been in his rooms that morning. Or the night before, for that matter. Still, Hermione thought, he might have been. . . otherwise occupied. But considering whom Harry had spoken, to, it was a bit more than just unlikely.

"Do you really think that he's all right, Hermione?" Harry asked, leaning forward on the table. Hermione bit back a frown. So, Harry knew that she was lying, then. She had to convince him otherwise, that she really believed Lupin was well-Harry had enough to deal with as it was.

"Yes," she smiled slightly as she said it. "Of course I do,"

He stared at her, his look clearly saying, _you don't lie that well_. He ran another hand through his ebony hair, and looked her straight in the eye. "Neither do I,"

Before she could further argue her case, Madame Pomfrey clamored into the room. "Ms. Granger, Mr. Potter, this way, please." She turned to leave again.

"Madame, Pomfrey, what-" Harry began, but the stout little witch cut him off, merely motioning for the two teens to follow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was a soft tap on the Headmaster's door, and Madame Pomfrey stuck her head in the office, searchingly. "Ah! Professor, I have brought young Lion to you,"

Dumbledore nodded slightly to her, and the door opened to let Harry and Hermione inside the resplendent room. To their surprise, not only were Dumbledore and Fawkes present, but Snape and MacGonagall, as well. The students exchanged a look, _what's going on?_

After the expected greetings and pleasantries had been exchanged, the occupants of the room all took their seats, trying desperately to ignore the cloud of sobriety that hung in the air.

"As you've all undoubtedly noticed, Professor Lupin appears to be missing," Dumbledore spoke. Oddly, though, his words seemed almost to add to the oppressing silence, not detract from it. "Let me assure you, however, that this is not the case."

There was a collective sigh of relief from Harry, Hermione, and MacGonagall, and Snape visibly relaxed, a look of decided relief flitting over he features, his white knuckles relaxing on the arms of his chair. From Madame Pomfrey and Dumbledore, however, nothing.

"At this very moment," the old man continued. "Lupin is resting in the infirmary, recovering from his wounds. His savior however, has not been so fortunate,"

"Savior?" Snape asked, echoing everyone's thoughts.

Dumbledore nodded. "One of our own men on the inside. Over the past year, he has been invaluable to us. Especially since Voldemort's discovery of Professor Snape."

The man in question sat ramrod straight in his chair, staring directly ahead. His face showed no emotional reaction, though Harry knew it was a difficult subject for the other man.

Towards the middle of their sixth year, the Gryffindor and the Potions Master had become. . . friends. It was a relationship based on respect, or at least it had been at first; over the year, it had become deeper, more tangible. Now, Harry thought with a small smile, he actually liked the old git.

It has helped their friendship, of course, that Remus Lupin had spoken favorably of Sev. Lupin was, after all, one of the people Harry trusted most in the world, and his honorary Godfather. At first, Harry had thought that he and Sev were just good friends. Later, he had discovered just how close they really were. Now only he, Hermione, Sirius, Dumbledore, and the lovers themselves knew the truth.

"Who was it, Albus?" MacGonagall spoke for the first time. 

"Draco Malfoy." The name was said quietly, yet still it echoed loudly in the now silent room.

"Malfoy?!" Harry exclaimed, disbelievingly. "Why would that git save Lupin?"

"Mr. Potter," Snape snapped. "I will ask you not to speak so badly of my Godson in my presence."

Harry winced lightly. There were few things that the Professor really took offense to. It seemed that Malfoy-his Godson-was one of them. He filed this information for future use, and turned to Snape apologetically.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said. "But understand that this comes as a shock,"

It was Dumbledore and not Snape that replied. "Of course, this must be quite the surprise to you, Harry. After all your rivalry with Mr. Malfoy is. . . infamous." He smiled, a twinkle in his eye. "However, don't you think it would be better to give him the benefit of the doubt? You should know better than anyone that things are not always what they seem."

However gentle Dumbledore's voice had been, Harry couldn't help but feel ashamed of his lack of faith in Malfoy. Ironic, really, that he was now being asked to believe in his rival, as his name actually meant "Bad Faith."

After a moment, the Potions Master spoke. "Where is he?"

"In the hospital wing,: Madame Pomfrey broke in suddenly. "He's not well, Severus.:

"Not well?" he asked. "What do you mean? What's wrong with him?"

"Carpe Enspiritus, Severus," Dumbledore said quietly. "You know of it?"

Severus nodded.

"He may," said Professor MacGonagall, "but I do not."

"I am not surprised. It is an ancient curse, rarely used, and therefore seldom taught." He paused, taking a sip of his Earl Grey tea. "It is quite dangerous, I'm afraid, in the wrong hands, and the ministry banned it years ago."

"But," said Hermione, frowning slightly, "you'd think, as it's dangerous, that the ministry would _want_ people to be taught how to watch out for it, at least."

Dumbledore smiled at her. "Quite right, Ms. Granger. However, I said that it was seldom taught, not that it was never taught. I myself, as I am neither a Potions Master, nor a healer, was not privy to that training."

Madame Pomfrey spoke. "I learned of it early on during my Medi-Witch training, as I was to have a basic knowledge of a number of rare curses and spells."

"And I," Snape broke in, "learned it during my apprenticeship in London. However," he continued, "it was only mentioned in a historical context. It was never meant to be seen as it was obviously never meant to be used."

Dumbledore nodded, once again taking the floor. He spoke for many minutes, explaining to the rooms' Gryffindor's the curse in detail. When he was done, the room was silent a moment, and then Hermione broached the question.

"So, no cure then," she said. "Well. . . then what are we going to do?"

"I had hoped that you would ask that, Ms. Granger," Dumbledore smiled at her again. Then he told them of the bond. For the Dark Lord's blood, he explained, they would supplement potions, and hoped to Merlin that it worked. "Once the bonding is completed, it can never be removed, and another bond could never be placed on either Mr. Malfoy or his partner.

Harry frowned at what Dumbledore had left unsaid. No marriage, no children, no love. Just Malfoy. Always Malfoy. His partner would be forced to bond with him mind, soul and. . . _body_.

"Who?" MacGonagall asked.

"Me." Hermione said, still frowning slightly. Dumbledore smiled, and Harry stared at her, stunned. MacGonagall looked distraught. 

"Very good, young Lion. I had hoped that you would come to that conclusion, as I have."

"Why? Why should Hermione have to bind herself to _Malfoy_ of all people?!"

Hermione turned to him, a resigned look about her eyes. "Think about it, Harry. They need someone who can do the spell correctly, and is strong enough to protect Malfoy until he regains his strength. Plus-I'm a girl," she continued, practically. "And that'll be needed for the. . ." Hermione winced as her stomach clenched. ". . . body bond."

Harry gripped his friends' hand tightly, unable to do anything but offer comfort, which she took eagerly. Dumbledore gave her a quick apologetic glance before continuing.

"The ceremony itself will be relatively simple; you and your second, Ms. Granger-"

"Second?"

"In case, my dear, you should run out of power during the bonding, your second will give you access to their own magic to aid you. Who will you choose?"

"Harry," Hermione replied without hesitation. "I would trust him with my life." This last comment was greeted with a squeeze of her hand from Harry, and a approving nod from the Headmaster.

"Good. It will be, as I said, simple. You and Harry will be in the chamber with Mr. Malfoy and myself. Then comes the recitation of the spell, and after that, assuming all is well, a light will shoot from his body to yours. The color will determine the basis of the bond your souls will share. Blue is for friendship, green is for enmity, red for passion, black for hatred, yellow for companionship, grey for indifference, white. . . well, I hardly think that will be an issue, in this case."

He smiled, and then moved on. "After the ceremony, we will move your things into a room in the South Tower. You and young Mr. Malfoy will be residing there for the duration of your stay at Hogwarts."

Hermione nodded, her face totally indifferent. "Will that be all, Professor?"

He nodded, and Hermione and Harry left the room. They and walked all the way to Gryffindor Tower before she broke down and began to cry in his arms.

~~~~~~~~~

Well, there you are! Read and REVIEW!!!!!! =)

~NayNymic


	4. Bond

Chapter 4: Bond

This chapter is for **Sara**, a.k.a. **Patris Vox**. Thank you for everything! :p 

By the way, the reason those in potions are taught about the spell is the same as the reason those in healing do-they are taught of it so that, should anyone fall victim to it, they would be able to brew possible cures, just as Medi-Witches and Wizards would combat it with different types of magic. Thanks for asking, though!

If any of you have questions, email me, and I'll be sure to answer them for you!

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"Are you ready for this, Hermione? I mean, are you sure?"

"I'm sure," she replied, firmly, grasping her second's hand. "But ready? I'm not sure I'll ever be ready."

Harry frowned, squeezing his friends' hand for support. It wasn't right, he frowned, it just wasn't right! Hermione had a life of her own to lead, she didn't deserve this. In all his life, he'd never met anyone as worthy of love as Hermione Granger-she deserved a good life of her own making; she deserved to fall in love, have children, follow her dreams, _live her life_. Not to be bogged down by Draco Malfoy. 

It wasn't, Harry thought, that he begrudged of Malfoy in particular, really. After all, he didn't hate the Slytherin; disliked him, certainly, but hate. . . no, he didn't hate him. That did not, however, mean that he had to like the idea of his best friend being forced to share her life with him. No one, no matter who they were, deserved to be bonded to someone they did not love. 

"You don't have to do this," he said slowly.

Hermione turned to him, her eyes sad but stubbornly set. "If it were you Harry, could you let him die?" she abolished him, but lightly. She knew, even if he did not, that he wouldn't-couldn't. He had no answer to that.

They walked a while in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. They stopped as one when they reached the door, Harry's brow set in anger, hers in resignation.

__

//This is it,// Hermione thought. _//I'll never be happy again.//_

Dumbledore was already inside the room when they entered, acting as second to the still unconscious Malfoy. In the rooms center, a large space had been cleared, and a circle, painted on the ground, of crushed white unicorn bone lay waiting. It would, Dumbledore had warned them, glow bright gold once they were inside, and the ceremony had begun.

The Headmaster nodded at the Gryffindors as they entered, his face almost unnaturally somber. "Ready?" he asked quietly, a pensive frown stretching across his features. 

Harry and Hermione said nothing.

Dumbledore seemed to know that this was the only response that he would get, and heaved a quite sigh. "All right, let us begin."

They stood within the now-glowing circle, Malfoy been placed into a trance like state so he could perform his part in the ceremony. It reminded Harry a bit of sleepwalking, and had the circumstances been different, he might even have laughed at the image. As it was. . .

Hermione stood to one side with Harry, while the Headmaster and his patient stood on the other.

"Raise your wands," Dumbledore ordered as he himself did. The other three complied. "Hermione, you and Draco will recite the spell,"

**__**

"Espiritus carpe

Et exultavit spiritus meus

In Deo salutari

Il mondo gira con me 

Que-stanote piccoli

Pasi che faccio conte

Seguoil tuo cuere 

E se-guo la Luna. . ."

But something was wrong. Malfoy, who was, after a ver vital piece of this equation, had stopped saying the words to the spell.

For a moment, a thin stream of light had jumped from Hermione's wand (not _being_, mind you, but her _wand_) and merged with Draco's. But the green light was sickly and flickered out almost immediately upon its conception.

Hermione's gaze snapped quickly to Dumbledore. Worry flickered across her face-they couldn't afford for this to go wrong. . .But the Headmaster was staring beyond her. At Harry.

She whipped around again, facing the spot where Harry had stood just moments earlier. He hadn't move far, only a foot or two, but he did not appear to have done so consciously. He looked as though, like Malfoy, he was in a trance, and he was sidling closer and closer to the other boy. The blonde, Hermione noted, was doing the same, left arm outstretched; hand, palm up.

Soon the two boys had reached the very center of the circle, and a blaze of light seemed to erupt between them, so bright, Hermione and Dumbledore were for a moment blinded by its brilliance.

When they were able to see again, the boys were staring at each other intently, communicating, if it was possible, without words at all. Harry's right hand was enclosed in Draco's left. They were reciting the spell, softly at first, but with purpose and in clear tones. The volume of their incantation began to grow, and Hermione thought, amazed, that the light seemed to pouring out from their very souls.

__

//White light? Red, but only at the edges. . . // the abstract thought flittered about her head as she watched. _//What did Dumbledore say about white light?//_ But he hadn't, she recalled, found that particular light color prevalent. What had he said? Something about it not being a concern with her and Malfoy. . . 

Only, it wasn't her and Malfoy, it seemed. But Harry and Malfoy? What could that mean? What was the white light a symbol of? What was Harry going to do when he realized what had happened? What-?

Her half-intelligent musings were suddenly ended by the sound of the boy's last words. "Dragon et Gryphon, une reve d'amour! Enspiritus Requiem, et pus, Enspiritus Aurora!"

In a final eclipse of white, the boys collapsed into each other's arms, fingers still intertwined.

. . . TBC. . .

Okay, there it is! Um, yes, you will learn of the meaning of white next chapter, I promise! Yay! Thank you to all of you wonderful people who reviewed. I love you all-keep reviewing, even if it is only to berate me, I'm cool with that :), and I'll update as soon as I can! 

XOXOXOXO

~NayNymic


	5. White

****

Hey! I'm sorry for the wait with this chapter, but my muse was taking a temporary hiatus in Bermuda. (Union rules, she/he/it had vacation days coming. . .) =D Enjoy!

~NayNymic

****

Chapter Five: White

Midnight found Hermione Granger in the library, searching frantically for any information she could find on either Carpe Enspiritus or bonding. Though it was true that she had been looking through these very volumes the day before in preparation for her own bonding-the idea that something could go this drastically wrong had never occurred to her.

Well, that wasn't _entirely_ true-she had _briefly_ considered that something might happen . . .but . . . they had taken precautions, they had been so careful . . . she HERSELF had checked through every text she could find, and Merlin only knew that she was more than thorough in her research.

She sighed, rubbing her brown eyes tiredly. How the _hell_ did it happen?! It should have been her in this-this. . . mess. Not Harry.

Hermione winced slightly, a wave of guilt washing over her. This was all her fault, really. It had been she that asked for Harry to be her second; she who had taught him the spell for reinforcement purposes, yes, but still. . . It had been she who had put him in danger. And now he was bound to Draco Malfoy. And it was all her fault.

//If only I had been more, careful, more observant, more open to the bonding. . . more everything,// she thought despairingly. //This might never have happened.//

In the immediate moments after the "incident," as she called it, Hermione had pulled Dumbledore aside and asked him why this terrible thing had happened. His response had been, at most, ambiguous, at worst alarming, but she had gained at least this much; the lack of power in the bond between Hermione and Malfoy had invoked a need for a different source of magic. A different partner altogether. It had just so happened that Harry had been in the way.

Overall, that explanation didn't satisfy Hermione's curiosity in the least. It was all just too. . . _convenient_, she supposed was the word for it. It fit too neatly-and if there was one constant in Harry's life, it was that it was neither tidy, nor was it convenient. 

And it left far too many questions unanswered. Such as the need for Voldemorts blood for the bond to work. Hermione herself had ingested numerous potions and been subject to several spells in order to create a temporary likeness of her blood to the Dark Lords. But Harry, her brow furrowed, had not. Neither she nor Professors Snape, MacGonagall, or Dumbledore had seen the necessity of making him take those particular precautions. So how had this occurred? By mere chance as Dumbledore supposed? Hermione had her own theories, all unproved. . . 

No, she mused, leaning her chin on her open palm. There had, after all, always been something about Harry. Something. . . special. This unique quality had always gained Harry no small amount of unwanted notoriety, true, but now. . . well, this was just too crazy.

//Argh! Harry's going to _mutilate_ me. . .I need to get him out of this mess.//

With renewed purpose, the studious Gryffindor opened another thick, dusty volume, and began to read.

~~~~~~~~

Three hours, eight books, and one extremely achy neck later, Hermione had still gleaned a distressingly small amount of knowledge concerning Harry's affliction. Hell, she was just about ready to pull out her hair. It was driving her _completely_ nutters.

"Oh, snap out of it, Granger," she told herself furiously. "Just remember-you're doing this for Harry, your best friend. . ."

Sighing for what she was sure must be the quadrillionth time that evening //-no, morning,// she corrected absently, she opened yet another large book. Though she'd never thought it possible, she was actually getting tired of reading. After all, research just wasn't the same at three-thirty in the morning. . . 

**__**

Bonding: Colors, Properties, and Meanings.

Absently twirling a single strand of hair with her left hand, Hermione re-read the title through a yawn. Well, at least this sounded a bit more promising than all the other rubbish she'd looked through thus far. As she read, only have paying attention, she toyed briefly with the idea of just taking the humongous book up to her dormitory with her. It was Friday-no, Saturday, she corrected herself again. She could just read it in the morning. . . well, later in the morning. . . after she woke up. . . in the afternoon. . . she rolled her eyes at her apparent inability to come up with the correct noun. . . verb. . .oh no. Not again.

But even as she thought this, a segment of writing on the parchment before her caught her exhausted eye.

It was, for the most part, just as the Headmaster had told them in his office the day before. Still, she decided stubbornly, there might be _something_. . . 

**RED: PASSION**

BLUE: FRIENDSHIP

GREEN: ENMITY

YELLOW: COMPANIONSHIP

WHITE: TRUE LOVE

GREY: INDIFFERENCE

BLACK: HATR—

//Wait!// Hermione started, her mind returning rapidly to reality. //True Love?!//

In her shock, she didn't hear the book drop heavily from her suddenly lifeless hands, nor did she realize that she had raised one of the aforementioned nerveless hands to her open mouth in horror.

//Oh, no. . .// she thought. //What have I done?!//

. **. .TBC. . . **

Well, there it is, I hope that you all enjoyed. And don't forget, REVIEW!!!!! =D

~NayNymic


	6. Concerned

****

Sorry for the delay-here it is…review! =D

~NayNymic

Chapter Six: Concerned. . . 

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

Severus Snape had always been somewhat of an enigma. To those either disliked or distrusted by the man, he appeared cold, unfeeling; a miserable, miserly man whose sole joy in life was to reduce others to his same state of unhappiness.

Thus, it might have proved somewhat of a shock to any who saw him as he was at that moment. He say, not with his usual rigid posture that so aggravated his would-be critics, but with a hunched over back, his head resting wearily in his hands; black hair spilling forward over his fingers, disguising nails-usually so perfect-bitten down to the quick in apprehension.

He had an air of resignation to him-an aura of melancholy that seemed to have seep into him, permeating his very bones. Such a defeated countenance, though unusual for the normally waspish Potions Master, wouldn't have been so very odd, if his dejected attitude had not come upon him while he was keeping vigil over the still recovering Remus Lupin.

The DADA professor had been unconscious for two days, seventeen hours, three minutes and forty-six seconds-not that he was counting, and it was positively driving him mad.

He knew that Pomfrey maintained that his love was indeed recovering-if Remus didn't wake up soon. . .He sighed. He wasn't sure what he would do. . . 

Even as he thought this, the man in the bed stirred. Severus sat up abruptly, the pain in his back and neck from hours of sitting uncomfortably, aggravated by the sudden movement. He knew he shouldn't be so. . . excited; Remus had done this before without waking. He might end up doing the same now.

But Remus did wake-the sight of Severus sitting nervously by his bed the first that greeted his eyes. Severus, he noted, looked tired. //I must have been out a long while. . .//

"Hello," he greeted the dark-haired man with a small smile, his voice rusty from the earlier screaming, and the two-odd days of disuse.

"Hello, yourself," Severus replied, reaching out to take the injured mans hand. "How are you feeling?"

Remus shrugged. "I suppose I've been better." He smiled again. "What happened?"

Severus hesitated. He had the right to know, true. . .but he was still recovering. His body was delicate yet-could he afford to have such stress thrust upon him?

"Severus," Remus warned, his voice no longer soft, but still fond. "You _will_ tell me what happened."

And he did.

An hour later, when he had given his lover all of the details, both of his rescue and of the bonding, erm, "situation."

By the end of it, the look in his beloved's eyes had turned decidedly dark. "Take me to Dumbledore. Now."

Severus knew better than to argue.

~~~~

At that exact moment-on the other side of the castle, Draco Malfoy's eyes snapped open.

. . . TBC. . . 

~~~~~

****

Hey, well there it is! I hope all of you are happy with the way it's going. More H/D in next chapter, I promise. =D Love you all! REVIEW!!! :p

~NayNymic


	7. Memories Best Forgotten

Ah, yes! Back again!  
  
Okay, yeah, so my comps a bit fucked at the moment so, first off for this chapter only (I hope. . .)  
  
*Blah* = italics, emphasis  
  
^^blah^^ = things that are communicated across the bond, as it were. . .  
  
//blah// = thoughts Sooooooo sorry about the long delay-all is explained at the bottom! Love you all like mad!  
  
~NayNymic  
  
Chapter Seven: Memories Best Forgotten. . .  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
He knew where he was-he had been there before, many, many times. His Father had always brought him there to. . . "learn," he said. Humility, fear, hatred, obedience, sometimes cunning-but always. . . *always*. . .pain.  
  
But even as his mind recognized it, it denied it. This wasn't real, couldn't be. For one thing, he could see himself-young. No more than three or four years of age, at most. He was huddling in a dark corner, seemingly attempting to blend in with the dank dungeon walls and floor. And for another, his younger-self was crying.  
  
//A memory then,// he thought. He himself hadn't cried in years.  
  
Malfoys never cry.  
  
He watched as four-year-old-Draco's head snapped quickly to attention, eyes round with fear. He had an anxious look on his tiny face, as though he were listening to something or someone very far away. Then, as quickly as it had come, the look of consternation passed, morphing quickly into an awful, full-fledged fear.  
  
Hastily, the child wiped the tears from his small, pale face, trying to compose himself for the evil that both he and Draco himself knew to be coming towards the door. He knew that something was coming, but what? //What is it that I fear so?// Draco asked himself as he watched the boy before him grow even paler. There was a sort of dreadful silence for a moment and then. . .footsteps.  
  
//Ah,// Draco thought, his "eyes" once again trained on the younger blonde. //And here he comes. . .//  
  
Dispassionately, Draco watched the scene unfold before him. It was a occurrence that he knew all too well. Vaguely, he wondered what his young self had done to cause the livid expression gracing his Father's face, but he dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. It didn't matter what the boy that was himself had done. It never really did. In the end, it was all the same.  
  
Circles chasing circles, chasing circles. . .  
  
"So, boy," Lucius Malfoy's cold voice rang through the dungeon. "Have you thought on what we. . .discussed?"  
  
The small boy nodded, barely able to keep his immense fear from triggering the impending tears.  
  
"And?"  
  
"I won't do it again, fadew(1). . .I pwomise. . ."  
  
Lucius sneered at his young son. He had obviously beaten the tiny child for his earlier offense pretty badly for his voice to be so faint. But then, Draco mused further, all of the beatings were bad.  
  
Lucius turned to leave-probably with the full intention to lave young-Draco as he was, when a small voice rang hesitantly out from behind him. "Daddy?"  
  
Lucius stiffened, his entire body frozen with what the boy probably thought was shock, but what Draco knew to be rage. Inwardly, he winced. The sneer of earlier moments had been wiped from his Father's aristocratic face to be replaced by a façade of utter calm. But his eyes, Draco shuddered. Those eyes bespoke murder.  
  
"Why did you call hew a mudbwood? Is 'sat bad?"  
  
For a moment, silence rang through the dark cavernous space, piercing the frigid, stale air. Louder, it was, than a scream. "What," the man said, his voice deadly. "Have I said about that name."  
  
It was not a question.  
  
There was a desperate gleam in the child's eyes as he realized his mistake, too late. Lucius was going to explode now. No doubt remained in the Slytherin's mind.  
  
Despite himself, he felt bad for the boy; after all, he knew those beatings too. He knew the agony of the *Crucitus*, the sting of the *Unaufhörliche Qual* Curse (2), how it felt to actually *want* to die.  
  
He knew, knew all too well. These were, after all, his own memories.  
  
//Odd,// He watched, detached, as the boys Father bloodied him mercilessly. He did not resist, could only scream again and again. . .//I wonder how many of *these* precious moments made it into the Family Albums.. .Merlin knows, there are so damned many that they should, by rights, occupy them entirely. . .//  
  
His train of thought was broken by his memory-Father's derisive snort. "Call yourself a Malfoy, do you boy?" He gave the bloodied heap of child another kick, satisfaction flitting across his icy face when the child whimpered slightly. This expression was soon replaced by a sneer however, as he knelt down to whisper in his sons ear. "You'll never be fit to lick the dirt from my boots, worthless child."  
  
Then he was gone.  
  
//Ah, yes, now I remember this. . .// Draco felt a wave of pain wash over him, sympathy he supposed for the boy he had been, but squashed it ruthlessly. //I never made the mistake of calling him *Daddy* again.//  
  
Draco watched, brow furrowed, as the boy began to cry once more, sobs of pain and anguish wracking his small body furiously. It would be hours, Draco knew, before anyone came to dry the tears. The blood itself was never allowed to be removed.  
  
"Still hasn't been," he whispered softly into the newborn silence.  
  
As the memory faded, Draco thought he felt a presence near him-someone he knew, someone he cared for. Deeply. But who?  
  
^^It's all right,^^ they seemed to be saying to him. ^^I know what you are, and what you have seen. I never knew before, but I see now. . .^^  
  
^^Who are you?^^ He wanted to shout, but found he couldn't.  
  
^^It's all right. . .^^ the presence assured him. ^^I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I see now. . .I see.. .^^  
  
A feeling of serenity flowed over him, and he was suddenly overwhelmed by the sensation of a warm hand slipping into his own. This. . .person, if indeed it was one, was someone he could trust; someone who would and did care. He couldn't really explain it, not even to himself, but somehow he knew, without knowing, that this presence was the one who mattered. That this. . .bond was right. Was good.  
  
//Heaven//  
  
His musings were brought to an abrupt end as the, erm. . .room? settled again. This time he was in a tiny, cramped space, so dark as to actually be entirely devoid of light. He could hear the sounds of someone or something scratching against what sounded like wood. The thing was. . .humming, the song off-key and unrecognizable. A child, then. The "thing" was a child.  
  
God. A child. In such a place as this? //How could anyone stand to be in here?// He thought. This was indeed the kind of dark that one would *never* get used to. . .And if you ever did, your eyes would be virtually ruined for life. . .  
  
Suddenly, the scratching stopped, and loud footsteps could be heard. Very heavy footsteps. Inwardly, Draco wondered what could be so very large as to be responsible for them. He could hear sounds of the faceless child putting something away, and, beside him, the presence seemed to tense expectantly; holding their breath in dreadful anticipation. Draco, responding to the others fear, stiffened subconsciously and waited.  
  
He didn't wait long. A moment later, Draco's "eyes" were blasted with light and sound, as what appeared to be the door to a small closet was wrenched open.  
  
"Boy." A large man, probably the one responsible for the elephant-esqe footsteps, with a livid purple face and a large moustache appeared suddenly in the opening. "You'd better not be making any noise in here. . .well? Were you?"  
  
"No, Uncle Vewnon," a small voice said quietly from Draco's left. Suddenly, Draco was aware of a small boy, four at best, untidy ink-black hair and big vibrant green eyes sans the usual ugly glasses. . .Oh, Merlin. . .Potter.  
  
"Liaw!" came a bratty, young voice from behind the large man. "Daddy, the nasty boy's a liaw!"  
  
"What do you mean, Duddykins?" the obese man called Uncle Vernon cooed. Draco shuddered in revulsion.  
  
"I hewd him Daddy. . .he was scwatching again."  
  
Draco watched as Har-no, *Potter's* face blanched quickly. Uncle Vernon's eyes narrowed dangerously, reducing them to mere slits of fat in his pig- like face.  
  
"Is this true? Were you using them *again*?"  
  
Draco had no idea what "they" were, but what could Ha-*Potter, damnit!* Possibly be doing that could be so awful? The young boy nodded his head- green eyes glassy with fear.  
  
Beside Draco, the presence seemed to wince.  
  
"I'm sowwy, Uncle Vewnon. . .I didn't mean to use the cwayons when you towd me not to, but I only used one!" he said somewhat hurriedly. "I just wanted to dwaw Mummy and Daddy.. ."  
  
He held out a tiny fist, and opened it to reveal the well-worn and well- loved stub of a blue crayon. It was an inexpensive one, obviously, the wax more clear than cobalt, and the boy obviously couldn't have drawn much with it, given that, as Draco had surmised earlier, he had no light, and his attempts were all on wood. . .but what got Draco, was that the crayon itself was so. . .loved. As though it were all the tiny child possessed in the world. . .  
  
If possible, Vernons ugly face purpled further. "What?!" he grated out dangerously.  
  
"I dwew that they didn't die in da caw cwash-" //Car crash? His parents didn't die in a. . .// "And that they came on a big, flying motobike, and we fwew to a magic kingdom whe-"  
  
But Potter got no farther. Vernon's face reached an all time shade of puce and his eyes widened grotesquely as he exploded with ire.  
  
"FOR THE LAST TIME, YOU MONGREL! THERE IS-NO-SUCH-THING-AS- *******MAGIC******!"  
  
"But my Daddy-"  
  
"No," Vernon snarled, dragging Harry bodily from the closet and into the hallway. "You listen to me, you little piece of shit! Your Daddy was a screw-up!"  
  
"No. . ." little Harry exclaimed, trying desperately to free himself from the vise-like grip of the evil man before him.  
  
"Yes," Vernon spat cruelly, his lip drawn back a feral snarl. His son, and a crane-like woman Draco assumed to be his wife watched coldly. "He was nothing-a nobody. Got your whore of a Mother knocked up real good, didn't he?"  
  
Vernon grinned, delighting in the boys cry of pain as h twisted his right arm mercilessly. Draco saw red. "No good cocksucker! That bastard didn't care about that no good slut-he liked his hard, rough and dry. . .and you're just like him!"  
  
The bone had cracked and Harry fell, scuttling quickly across the floor in an attempt to flee his uncle's wrath. Still snarling in pleasure, Vernon grabbed his nephew's messy ebony hair, dealing him repeated blows to the face and neck until the skin was as much red as it was tan.  
  
"Truth is, boy," the man smirked, placing his foot almost casually on the sprawled boys knee. "The only tragic thing about their death was that the bastards didn't take you with them."  
  
At Harry's cry of rage, Vernon shifted all of his 300-odd lbs onto the knee- supported foot with a sickening *!CRUNCH!* earning a cry of pain so intense, it literally made Draco's world go black.  
  
. . . TBC. . .  
  
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@  
  
1. Baby talk; the boys are young in their memories, so they can't pronounce certain words correctly. If anyone has any trouble figuring out which words mean what, just leave it in your review, and I'll clear it up there. :)  
  
2. The Unaufhörliche Qual Curse-This I just made up. It's German for "Agony Unending." I'm intending it to be a slightly modified, more intense version of the Crucitus. It'll come up again. :p  
  
Okay, so yeah. There it is! Ta-da! I'm sorry again that this was so late, but I'm not living at my house at the moment, and so, having access to all of my stories has been a bit hard (especially as they're all on disc. . .:p). Then, once I finally got it re-written, ff.net kept screwing me over, and wouldn't upload. Grrr. . . Oh, well. All's well that ends well, right?  
  
Signing off, now. Please, please, REVIEW!!!!!!! Love you all!  
  
~NayNymic 


	8. Finally Waking Up

****

A/N: Hello. :) I'm back! With, I think, the longest chapter I've ever posted to make it up to you. :_* Please forgive me my incredibly long leave of absence… Please? Lol.

Anyway, there's a semi-important author's note at the end, please read it. And if you have any questions, leave a review with your email address. Thanks. :)

Beta'd [sp] by _Carolyn_.

~NayNymic

Chapter Eight: Finally Waking Up

Pain. Aching, jaw-clenching pain, worse than he had experienced in quite a long while. It had first hit him when opened his eyes to the stale white walls and ceiling of the Hogwarts Infirmary…but not, he noticed, the main ward.

He could clearly see that it was a closeted room; not that it was particularly small, nor was there a variance in the general whiteness of the general Infirmary, but, well, Draco had been laid up in Madame Pomfrey's playground to recognize the difference. There were no windows, nor, as far as he could tell given his limited range of movement, doors. Well, no, there was one, but he had a feeling, and hoped, as he felt the light strain of his bladder, that that particular door led to the washroom, and was not in fact, an exit. There was a screen to his left, partitioning his bed from the rest of the room, though he could see no real purpose in that, unless there was another bed….

//Why am in here?// he wondered, pushing away thoughts of possible roommates. After all, if he _was _to have one, he was bound to find out eventually. He could see no scars, though there were a moderate number of bandages where there had been unmarred skin previously, not all _that_ many though—so a broomstick accident was probably out. Then again, apart from the bandages, he had plenty of bruises, mostly on his arms, and, he assumed, from the dull pain that came with movement, his legs, so perhaps.

Care of Magical Creatures? Could he have been caught by one of the gamekeepers' famous "cute" animals? He remembered, vaguely, a hound……

_Draco dragged the bloody, unconscious form of Remus Lupin through the empty hallway, sweat rolling down his forehead from the effort. He had broken his leg while trying to get the DADA professor out of the small dungeon room, and the pain was impeding his speed. Draco grunted as Lupin once again slipped in his arms, a veritable dead weight. Whatever else he might have been, the werewolf was certainly not starving._

He had to hurry, he didn't have much, if any time, before the Death Eaters returned to the anti-chamber. When they did, it would be more than glaringly obvious that the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was not where they had left him. He just hoped that that particular revelation would be postponed until he and Lupin were out of range, though he doubted it.

He couldn't afford to be caught—and if he could only get to the outer wall, he wouldn't be. If he were, there would be hell to pay, and not just for himself. It was true that the Dark Lord did not appreciate the defection of his precious followers, and Draco had no doubt that if he was apprehended, his death would be anything but sweat. He was prepared for that, he thought, as he pressed on towards the gardens. He had known what he was risking when he'd volunteered for this assignment. But he couldn't risk the other consequences of failure.

His greatest worry was Severus—the man had been his alibi for missing the meeting; if he and Lupin failed to reach the portkey in time, the Light would lose both of their eyes in Voldemorts camp, and with them, their already precarious advantage. There was, he reflected as he and his burden emerged into the night, no point in thinking on it, now, though. If he did, he would slow down, and he could not afford to lose even a second.

Trying desperately to ignore the burning sensation in his chest, Draco struggled on, Lupin growing more burdensome by the second. He had just reached the end of the third themed garden when he heard the howls. 

"Oh, sweet Merlin," Draco breathed, his chest constricting with an almost tangible fear. There was naught but one creature upon the earth could make such a sound as that…The hounds of Hell.

Draco's jaw clenched with the remembrance. Ah, yes, he remembered now. The last bit of his…adventure, the moments where he'd reached the portkey and afterwards, were a bit blurry, but he assumed that, as he was very much alive, his cover had not been blown. Had he blacked out then? He only hoped that he'd been conscious enough to deliver Lupin and tell Dumbledore about the rings…

Reaching blindly for the bedside table, Draco felt around for the vial of numbing potion he knew would be there. Groping about until the small vial was secure in his clammy hand, he pulled violently at the rubber stopper and gulped it down as fast as his abused throat could handle it.

As fond as he was of potions, they were his hobby, after all, he wished, as he waited for the numbing potion to take effect, that Mme(1) Pomfrey had been there to cast a spell. If nothing else, they left no unpleasant after-taste. At long last, the pain was washed away with a cooling wave of magic, and Draco sagged in relief.

But now that the agony had ebbed, a different ache, one arising from his very core, was making itself known. It was an ache of need, if there could be such a thing—an almost desperate want just beneath the surface of his skin, burning him from the inside out. A ridiculous description, he told himself, but as he looked down to examine the pale skin on his arm, there was a light blush tone to it. It was so noticeable, it even lessened the contrast between his skin and his Mark.

Draco moaned as, with each passing moment the ache increased. It didn't make any sense—why was it getting stronger? Shouldn't, logically, it be doing the opposite, given that he'd just taken a rather disagreeable potion to make the pain _stop_?

For a moment, Draco waited; perhaps the need would go away on it's own…But, minutes passed, and it didn't, and Draco's discomfort increased almost exponentially. His skin broke out into a sweat and his hands began to itch, as though his fingers were yearning, if fingers could do things like that, for something outside of his field of vision. 

There was a steadily growing pressure in his chest, and an answering ache just behind his eyes. It was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe, though Draco couldn't think of why this would be. The pain of it was almost unbearable—the ache a constant pulse in his blood.

Through his pain, Draco was aware of Madam Pomfrey speaking to him and a curtain being drawn back. Something cold and wet had been deposited on his forehead, and his mouth forced open to make way for another potion. 

The Ache, Draco could practically hear the capitals in his head as he thought of it, finally receded, the dull pulse of his blood, the only reminder that it was sure to eventually return.

"What was that?" Draco asked shakily, wiping his palms on the crisp hospital blankets as the Nurse busied herself with checking his vitals. She didn't answer him.

"How much do you remember, Mr. Malfoy?"

//Nice way to dodge the question…//

"I was in Dumbledore's office, I think," he tried to recall, massaging his temples lightly. Gods, his throat was parched… "I think…I mean, did I faint?"

The Nurse nodded matter-of-factly, though Draco wasn't sure if she was answering his question or confirming her own suspicions. Her next comment only half answered his thoughts. "Yes, yes. Do you remember anything else?"

"I…." He hesitated. Should he mention the dreams? They were not, he was sure, especially relevant. But that _presence_…Shaking slightly, he accepted the glass of water the Nurse offered him. "No, nothing."

Madam Pomfrey opened her mouth, the pitying look upon her features almost a warning, though he had no idea of what, when she stopped. Draco was just going to ask her to continue, but she got up from her perch on the edge of his bed to attend to a mysterious moan from behind the other curtain that Draco had noticed earlier.

Whomever was behind the partitioned area seemed to be in quite a state. Madam Pomfrey sighed as she pulled back the curtain, revealing a boy with jet-black hair and a small, lightning bolt scar on his brow.

Draco watched, unable to tear his eyes away from the writhing form of Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived was sweating profusely, his already tanned skin flushed with heat. His chest was bare, and the crisp white hospital sheets were tangled up around his hips, exposing just a patch of his blue flannel pajama bottoms.

Draco hands had begun that infernal itching again, when the boys form had first come into view. Unconsciously, those very hands had begun to stretch out, as though reaching for the Gryffindor boy.

Suddenly, Potter's back arched up, until only the Gryffindor's head and lower body remained on the bed. Madam Pomfrey, in an attempt to pacify her suddenly very mobile patient, placed her hands on his burning shoulders and pushed him down.

Draco's vision went momentarily read and a surge of adrenaline rushed through his body as he pictured that—that _horrid woman_ putting her hands on Harry.

Wait….**_Harry_**?!

Harry's movements, as Draco watched, grew more frenzied and the Nurse could no longer control his behavior. Suddenly, the brilliant green eyes snapped open and Harry's hands reached out towards him. The Ache, which had never really gone away, returned full-force, and Draco reached back. Harry moaned slightly as their fingers brushed.

Madam Pomfrey, having a sudden slash of understanding, pushed the two beds together. Immediately, the boys grabbed onto eachother, their hands clasping and their arms around each other's waists.

//Oh bugger,// Draco thought as the green eyed boys fingers brushed his.

"Tell me about it." Came the Gryffindor's reply.

Draco's eyes opened wide, and with a sudden shock, met Harry's equally startled ones. "Bugger," he said at last, aloud this time. Why was his life never simple?

^___________________^

It was a peculiar thing, Hermione thought, the manifestations of discomfort or fear or confusion that could write themselves out in human mannerism. She was sure that there was a thesis about it somewhere, and if there wasn't, it would be an interesting thing to look into writing about. 

Little things—looking everywhere in the room _but_ at her, rubbing his eyes, clasping and unclasping his hands. All of these were Albus Dumbledore's expressions of these emotions…she was amazed at the breadth and diversity of them, and that he was even capable of such mortal qualms at all.

"White, you say?" Dumbledore's wise eyes peered over rimless half-moon glasses. "Not…gray?"

"No."

He nodded. "….Yellow?"

She shook her head.

"Hmm, no….Perhaps a light green?"

Hermione sighed, exasperated with the normally astute Headmaster. "No, no. It was most definitely _white_."

"I assume," Dumbledore said, at last giving in. "That you are aware of the ramifications of that particular outcome?"

He helped himself to a cup of tea as Hermione watched.

The young Gryffindor nodded. "Of course."

The Headmaster gave her a slight smile and a chocolate biscuit for her trouble. The boys, he guessed, wouldn't be pleased by this revelation. But, he knew, they'd have to be told. Even if he did have the power, or was foolish enough to attempt to use it, to erase their bond, or try to simply deny its existence, he wouldn't. The boys would surely notice something was wrong, in any case.

And perhaps this wouldn't be all bad. Both of the children were….lonely, he supposed was the closest word. And Dumbledore could think of no one more deserving of love, unconditional or otherwise, than Harry Potter. And if young Malfoy was the one to give that love, then so be it. 

Besides, it would be nearly impossible, now that the bond had been formed, to break it without potentially killing one or both of the boys. The charm was potent, the bond strong—if any of the elements required for a complete mesh had yet been achieved…well anything was possible.

Although, Dumbledore thought that that much was as of yet unlikely. It was almost preposterous that any progress on the completion of the bond would have been made…It should, conceivable, be at _least_ a few weeks.

"Professor," Hermione interrupted, her normally confident voice soft. "What shall I tell Ron?"

Dumbledore thought on it a moment. The youngest Weasley son had been…absent from Harry's life of late. It was true that none of the parties involved had come to him with this information, not even, indeed for council, but, as Muggles were fond of saying, walls have ears. And this was truer nowhere more than Hogwarts, where every portrait was a confidant.

//It's probably nothing,// the old man thought. Not all friendships last forever—people (especially the young) grow apart. But there was something…odd about the entire situation. Something wrong, but Dumbledore could not think of what that could be.

"For the time being, Miss Granger," the Headmaster replied, smiling benignly at her. "Nothing at all."

^________________^

"What I don't understand," the Creature hissed angrily, red eyes glowing with suppressed rage. "Is how the werewolf managed to escape, given that he was _unconscious_ at the time,"

"We believe," came the smooth voice of Lucius Malfoy, a strain of fear hidden beneath. "My Lord, that he was rescued by a member of the Old Fool's Army….Though how they got past the wards, when they were so _excellently_ manned—" he shot a venomous glare at Pettigrew. "—is unknown."

Voldemort grimaced, his pinched and snake-like features tightening further, his scowl darkening. His grip on the chair's arms grew ruthless. "This cannot happen again…Severus and Draco must be set on their trail. Severus has _told_ Draco of the…incident, I assume?" The last part was ground out, and Pettigrew cowered a little bit.

Lucius nodded. "So he has written me, My Lord. He was deeply sorry that he and Draco could not leave the school without arousing the mans suspicions. Draco was most disappointed at not having been able to help in the chase."

Voldemort grinned, a sickening split of an almost inhuman face. "Yes, your son has ever been a boon to me, Lucius. A fine Death Eater, much like his sire,"

Lucius bowed deeply at the praise.

"I need to find the source of this…problem," the Dark Lord spat out, his voice harsh. "And when it is found, Lucius, it must be….disposed of. Understood?"

Lucius nodded, the movement causing the torchlight to reflect off his silver-blonde hair, his eyes gleaming as Voldemort ran a skeletal finger across his cheek. "It shall be done, My Lord."

****

…TBC…

Hey, everyone! I'm _ssooooooo_ sorry about the delay with this chapter. It just did NOT want to come out, you know? Anyway, I hope this chapter, which is about 2600 words long, will help to ease the pain. I'm alternating updates from now on, and the next thing I update will be "Malediction: The Forgiveness of Sinners." 

::wink:: When this will be updated, exactly, I couldn't tell you though. Lol. I'm such a putz. :) 

Anyway, yes, the mind link has been established, one step down….whether or not Harry and Draco will accept it….well, that's something else entirely, isn't it?

So, tell me what you think. More will be revealed in the next chapter. :)

REVIEW!!!!!!!!

~NayNymic


End file.
